


A Healer in Armor

by Lady_Juno



Series: Lovebirds of Rivendell [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gil-galad (mentioned), Grief/Mourning, Last Alliance, Love Confessions, Post-Last Alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Juno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond and Celeborn return with their men after years of warfare, and their women are waiting for them, though not necessarily with patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Healer in Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [die_wiederkehr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_wiederkehr/gifts).



"The warriors are coming!"

The wood was ringing with exultant cries and authoritative orders. Celebrían did her best to remain seated with her mother. As Galadriel had always said, there was no worse distraction for anxious men than the presence of anxious women. Not that her mother was ever anything less than perfectly composed, thought Celebrían enviously.

"The king has returned!"

Joyful songs and celebrations were replaced with hurried footsteps and calls from one to another for water, wine, and medical supplies. This last filled Celebrían's heart with dread. Was her father injured? What about the other warriors of Lorien? How many had returned? Her traitorous mind turned inescapably toward grey eyes in a wise, solemn face. Was Elrond here? Had he survived?

"Impatience, my dear, seems unusually becoming on you." Galadriel's quiet voice made Celebrían jump, and she looked guiltily at her mother, hoping that she had been the only one that could see how truly impatient she was. She didn't want to stay here and wait. She wanted to go, to bring water to the thirsty, to fetch and carry, to do _something_ to make the wait more bearable.

_But Ammë, I can't just_  sit _here! There are injured men out there, some may even be dying! I have to do something to help them!_  She had the presence of mind not to speak aloud, at least, knowing that her tone would betray her distress, regardless of her wishes to the contrary. There was no need to let the guards worry about them when there were better and more important things that ought to have their attention.

"Somehow, I can't help but think this restlessness springs more from love than distress."

_You're not listening to me! I need to help- what?_  Celebrían stared intently on the page under her pen, but realized she hadn't written so much as a character in several minutes. Her focus wasn't likely to change in the near future, either.

"Oh, of course, you love your father, and rightly so. He is a good man. But there is, I think, another that holds your affections in even greater measure than your king." Galadriel kept her tone light, but it was clear, to Celebrían, at least, that the Lady of Lorien knew perfectly well that she had the attention of every elf within earshot. Silver hair falling away from her face like a heavy veil, Celebrían looked at her mother, unsure of whether to be embarrassed or not.

"I... Ammë, I don't know what you mean. Atto is as dear to me as any could be." Inwardly Celebrían felt a certain amount of chagrin. How could she have thought to hide her feelings for Elrond from her mother?  Those who didn't know her as well thought Galadriel was all-knowing. The reality of it was that there were few in the world adept enough at concealing their thoughts that Galadriel would find any difficulty at all in skimming them from the surface of the mind as a skilled silversmith might skim impurities from his molten medium. Alright, maybe not the best analogy, but it was true.

Galadriel simply shook her head knowingly and smiled. After a moment, Celebrían glanced around, lowering her voice pointedly to let their listeners know she didn't want to be overheard. There were new warriors speaking quietly with the guards that had been posted over Lorien's ladies, so Celebrían felt reasonably confident that they would have no trouble ignoring her next words.

"I have said nothing of my feelings for Elrond before now because it is still fresh, and he has been gone to war. I don't know if he lives, let alone if his words before our parting are still true. Ammë, please, say no more until this _nessa melmë_ has a chance to take root." To Celebrían's dismay, her mother seemed completely unmoved. Rather than regarding her daughter with respect or even with surprise (for Celebrían felt she had aged a thousand years in the last fifty) there was only _amusement_ in her eyes. The elleth ran a frustrated hand through her hair, hating the helplessness of the moment. The passionate emotions of youth, her father had often said, could lead both to great good and to great harm. At that instant, Celebrían didn't care. She put her paper and pen aside, standing firmly.

"Where are you going, _pîn gil?_ " Galadriel seemed as unruffled as ever, and this seemed to stir the sparks of Celebrían's temper to greater flame.

"I'm going to see to my people, Ammë," she said passionately. "I'll not sit here and pine while within our borders there are warriors suffering on our behalf. They have fought a great evil and now they have come to a place of safety--I don't intend to let them think their princess idle when I would not be."

"And if your servant wished to hear more of your feelings for this... Elrond?" The warrior that had been speaking with the guards fixed her with a piercing look. His eyes were brightest blue, though his dark hair marked him as one of the Noldor of the West.

"Then you may wait until Elrond himself sees fit to tell you. I would have him hear the words from my lips, not those of a stranger." Celebrían had intended to make her tone sharp, but found herself showing deference instead. There was something about this elf, even in his battered armor and travel-stained cloak, that commanded respect. And as she watched, his expression softened, a smile curving his tired mouth.

"Your kindness betrays you, my lady. Elrond speaks little in times like these, but when he does, it is of Celebrían of Lothorien, the very daughter of the Sun and Moon." And the warrior bowed deeply, politely averting his eyes as Celebrían blushed.

"You have me at a disadvantage," she murmured, casting her eyes toward her mother. No, Galadriel was inspecting her embroidery as though there were nothing more interesting in the whole world. "You know me, but I fear I don't recognize your face. Forgive me my impudence."

"Not at all, my lady." The elf straightened, his eyes bright and kind. "I am Faelion of Lindon."

The name was familiar to her. Gil-galad's lieutenant, a swordmaster of great repute among his own people. Of course, he would have spent a great deal of time both with Gil-Galad, his master, and with Elrond, who was a good friend of Gil-galad's. Celebrían felt a surge of hope.

"Lord Faelion, it's an honor to meet you." She curtsied, and she could see the noble elf smile. "Do you have news of your master and... maybe, of Elrond, also?" Almost immediately, she wished she hadn't asked. A shadow of grief passed across Faelion's handsome face, and he looked away for a moment as a tear found its way down his pale cheek.

"Sad news indeed I bear to the ladies of Lorien today," he said at last, his tone grave. "Gil-galad has fallen. We conquered Mordor and her filthy lord, but lost our brightest star."

The elleth swayed, staggered by this revelation. She had met Gil-galad, had bounced on his knee as a child and learned old songs from him in her youth. She knew and loved him, as any who had met the Noldor king would. And while her mind struggled with the enormity of that loss, her heart scrambled for composure, for an anchor, for anything to hold steady while she despaired of ever learning the fate of her beloved.

"And... and Elrond?" she asked faintly, accepting his steadying hand when he extended it to her. Almost insensible of the unabashed tears flowing down her own countenance, she watched the face of Faelion. He had to have seen her devastation, her frantic need for comfort.

"With the wounded, my lady. He will not take rest while his men still suffer."

Behind her, Celebrían could hear the smooth rustling of Galariel's silken dress as her mother stood. There was something graceful, even in the sound of it, and she took comfort in the pillar of strength that was the Golden Lady of Lorien.

"Go, my child. Your absence will do him no more good than your presence could easily make up for." Her soft voice was like a song of courage, and Celebrían turned away, feeling as though she were in a dream. As she moved away, a guard offering his arm to guide her, she could hear Faelion and Galadriel still speaking.

"And my husband? Is there news of him as well?"

"Aye. Lord Celeborn, I believe, desired the chance to make himself 'presentable' before he returned to his lady."

Celebrían almost laughed with relief. If her father was worried about his appearance, then he couldn't be badly off. Her father was not a vain man, but there were some quirks to his character that seemed far more in keeping with one of lower rank than his.

The guard escorted her past tired warriors and joyful reunions, past the crowded dining lawn and beyond to the silent orchards. There, amid the carefully-tended trees, pallets were spread and tents erected for those who couldn't make the climb to the platforms above. And there he was, bending attentively over a prone warrior whose leg was swollen with infection. When he reached for the basin of water, Celebrían passed it to him quietly. He didn't seem to notice, so completely absorbed in the work of saving a life that he couldn't be spared the cost of attention to his surroundings.

For two or three hours they continued like this. Celebrían followed Elrond as a servant might his master, handing him what he asked for and ensuring his supplies didn't run out. His eyes, ever compassionate, never seemed to focus on anything but the patient to whom he was listening, whose wounds he treated, whose loved ones he spared the pain of loss. Celebrían knew this was what a Healer did, and that Elrond was one of the greatest that Middle-earth had ever known--would ever know. It was a peculiar honor to feel the blood of the wounded on her hands, to wipe sweat and vomit from the faces of the ailing, or to ease the tormented into deep, dreamless sleep. At length, Elrond straightened to move to the next pallet, and realized his patients were all treated. Three remained, unconscious or sleeping under the power of his herbs, while the rest had either gone or been helped into the platforms above, where they might sleep with greater peace of mind. He looked about, his intense concentration seeming to ease into exhaustion now that there were none left who needed his strength.

At last, his eyes fell on Celebrían, and surprised pleasure lighted their depths in a way that the elleth felt sure she would carry with her to the Undying Lands.

"Celebrían. I didn't expect-"

"I know." She touched his hand, and he fell silent. Gently, she led him to a little arbor where he might rest. There was a pallet, water and food already there, and Celebrían silently blessed whomever had left them. "Rest, my love. You are spent."

Though Elrond allowed her to push him down onto the pallet, he neither acknowledged the food nor took his eyes away from her face. There was a wondering light in his gaze, and hope, too.

"You... received my letter?"

"Yes."

"And you aren't upset with me?"

"Only for taking so long to return. The years sit ill on a waiting mind."

"Celebrían." He gave her hand a gentle pull, and she sank slowly to her knees, not caring about the condition of her dress or the mild ache of exertion in her legs. To hear his voice was enough to make up for all of it. "I wanted to tell you, but I was too cowardly to say so before I left. Please hear me. I love you. I have loved you for many years. For as long as I have seen you in the gardens of Imladris. Longer, though I cannot say how."

Slowly, she nodded. She knew the feeling. As if she'd loved him before she had ever known his face or his hands or his strong, gentle voice.

"And I you. You have my thanks, and my heart, if you will have it."

A moment of silence as the exchange settled between them. With a soft tug, he pulled her closer. One warm hand slid up to her bare shoulder and his forehead touched hers, grey eyes sliding closed.

"I would have you, my beloved. Forever."

His voice was like summer to her heart. Yet even as she rejoiced, she sensed the nearness of her mother and one other.

"That, I believe, is a subject that you and I should discuss, Elrond Peredhel." Celeborn looked down at his daughter, and though she knew she must look guilty, she could see a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ammë- Mother
> 
> Atto- Daddy
> 
> Nessa melmë- young love
> 
> Elleth- female elf
> 
> Pîn gil- little star (endearment, Sindarin)  
> * * *  
> In _Fleet as the Wind,_ all the Elvish used in Galadriel and Celebrían's dialogue is Sindarin. It has been a while since I wrote FW, and as a result, I forgot that I had decided that Celebrían spoke Sindarin almost exclusively. In this piece (as some of you may have noticed) Celebrían speaks a few Quenya phrases. In my ever-changing headcanon, it makes perfect sense to me that Celebrían would know some Quenya, as both her parents speak the language fluently, and Sindarin is a second language to them. So while the elleth's first language is Sindarin, she knows some Quenya--in her words "just enough to get by"--and uses it occasionally, especially as endearments toward her parents when they are alone.


End file.
